My First Horse

My first horse was not really a horse at all. Pete was his name and he was a donkey. This is what happened. One of my brothers has a birthday the day after mine. That means that many times I had to share my birthday present with him. He complains about the same thing, by the way.

I was born in love with all things horsey. I love stories about horses, Walt Disney movies about horses, the smell and feel of saddles, bridles, and pictures of horses. I draw horses all the time and on almost every surface.

You can only imagine my huge excitement, when one day after coming home from school, my Dad told my brother and I to go look in the barn; there’s a birthday present for you out there. As we raced out the back door, I could hear Mom calling out that it wasn’t just for me, it’s for your brother too! You have to share!! Oh, whatever.

What a fantastic surprise. There standing in a stall was a beautiful, silvery-gray donkey. His ears were huge and hairy, and he had bangs hanging over his eyes. I was in love. My brother looked skeptical and just noted that it wasn’t a horse. We found out later that his name was Pete and that he hadn’t been ridden much. I didn’t care, close enough for me.

I kind of took over Pete. He was my “horse” and I now had the opportunity to put all my collected knowledge about horses to practical use. My brother was not nearly so taken with Pete as I, which suited me just fine. At first Dad led us around the pasture on Pete’s back. All of my brothers and sisters joined in on the fun, sometimes 3 or 4 of us kids all at the same time. But then the novelty wore off, and my brother hurt himself falling off so in the end Pete became all mine. I fell off my fair share of times too, but not when anyone was watching. I discovered that if you want something bad enough, it doesn’t really hurt. My parents still don’t know about some of my experiences with Pete.

Dad didn’t waste money on things like saddles and bridles, so I improvised. On a farm, at least on ours, there is an ample supply of a certain material that I eventually became so proficient at making things with that I earned a scornful nickname, Binder Twine. It is twine that is used to bale hay, and after the hay bale is opened the twine is all mine to make snowshoes, rabbit traps, bows for shooting arrows, and in this case, bridle and stirrups for riding Pete.

I quickly learned that the twine fashioned bridle worked great, but nothing doing as a bit. Pete made short work of chewing the bit apart, so I settled for hauling his head back and forth with the ‘reins’ and called that steering. With no bit, there is not a braking effect either. Pete resisted leaving home, however, enough switching and drumming his sides would eventually get us way out in the field away from the house. Then the real fun began.

It was fun for me. When I let Pete turn around and see home, he really kicked it up and ran all the way back. Donkeys don’t offer much by way of mane for a handhold, but I guess it was enough. Doing this over and over, I got pretty good at staying on and eventually became good at riding bareback. This ability never left me. I prefer it. You can really feel the muscles and in cold weather, the horse’s soft hairy sides are nice and warm, an original heated seat feature.

When you come to enjoy something as much as I love riding, you are willing to share it with others so long as they really want to share it too. One day a cousin and family came to visit. This cousin’s name is Carol and she is quite a bit older than me, a fact that didn’t seem to help me out at all when what happened actually happened. What I mean to say is that the older kid should always get the blame because they are older… right? Well, this is what happened.

Carol asked if Pete was ridable. Of course he is! was my reply. My siblings weren’t nearly so positive about this, but I was happy to see that Carol got a ride. Pete stayed in a paddock next to the barn and was easy to catch. I caught him and put his twine ‘bridle’ on, explaining to Carol that the bridle didn’t have a bit, so Pete really couldn’t be stopped.

Turns out that stopping wasn’t the problem of that day. Pete wouldn’t go. He just stood there with his big hairy ears twisting back and forth, watching us. We tried everything. I told Carol to kick his sides, yell giddy-up, shake the ‘reins’ and swat at his rear with a switch. Nope, Pete wouldn’t move. Then I got an idea.

I saw the metal pan that Pete ate his grain from lying on the ground and nice stout stick next to it. I took up the pan and stick and ran at Pete banging the pan like a drum. Wow, was that effective. Pete took off like a pistol shot. Carol failed to keep up. He literally ran right out from underneath her. Carol landed wrong... and it hurt. She wailed and cried and when the adults arrived, I was in really big trouble.

Sadly, Carol had to go to the doctor and found out that her arm was broken. I got all the blame. Even though she was oldest and the way I see it surely some of the blame was hers. After all… she should have told me she’d never ridden before and had no idea a donkey could move so fast, but my parents simply did not agree with any of that.

I was banned from riding as a punishment and very much felt sorry for myself. Life is unfair, there is no justice. During this period of banishment, I was still allowed to feed and brush Pete and occasionally lead him around with one of my younger siblings on him, but it wasn’t the same of course.

One day, I was giving my sister a ride and she complained that Pete was slow. She asked me to make him trot. It would be more fun. I should have stopped it right there, but I agreed that trotting would be more fun and got behind Pete with a stick. Unfortunately, Pete knew my intentions and uncharacteristically leaped up and sideways, to avoid my stick no doubt. Donkeys are actually quite intelligent you know.

My sister stayed on long enough to put her eye on a level with a jagged wire sticking out from the fence. The wire sliced her eyelid nearly off. It was bad, blood everywhere and she was screaming and of course she fell off Pete’s back. Mom came running, having heard all the noise. Mom was so mad at me. She told me to watch the little kids while she took my sister to the doctor.

I was actually fairly worried because I feared my sister might lose her eye. As it turned out, she just got stitches and lots of attention and I really got into trouble, for the second time, in just a short time, and especially because I was oldest and should have known better.

I didn’t and still don’t blame Pete. He was not a horse, but he was all mine. I loved him and I learned so many things that later when I got actual horses, I already had a great head start thanks to Pete. To this day, my sister and Carol do not let me forget their victimhood.

What can I say? I shared my birthday present, didn’t I?!!